


Tailslide.  1-25/25.

by punky_96



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 16:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 8,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14382960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punky_96/pseuds/punky_96
Summary: Re-post from LJ.Emily and Andy’s journals post Paris. Odds=Emily, Evens=AndySo I wrote FF100 for Callica and then wanted to do something similar with a DWP Pairing.  Emily/Andy were the pairing that I chose to explore.The words were from a challenge that I found and originally linked, but now leads to a blank white screen.  Shrugs.  The words I used for the 'prompts' were selected from the list to suit me.





	1. Destroy.

 

 

 

 **Tailslide**  is a term for an aerial maneuver (plane) or a skateboard trick. In a plane, you head up until you stall out and then you do the rest of the trick. I thought it sounded cool and that in a way the girls are both going through life heading ‘up’ (whatever that means) and then they stall out and have to figure out what to do about it.

 

  
  
 _ **Tailslide—Destroy**_  
  
 **March 6, 2006**  
  
 _“Ginger Rogers did everything he did backwards and in high heels.”_  –Bob Thaves  
  
Serena knew I’d need a pick-me-up today so she left a ‘smoky eyes’ kit and a note. I couldn’t believe she typed up the quote, but her loopy handwriting in contrast really was the best part. She added, “You do it on crutches. Take that Ginger!” I really didn’t want to start my day with a smile, but I didn’t have a choice with a note like that. When she fetched Miranda’s coffee for me, I actually hugged her.  
  
When Miranda came in sans Andy, I couldn’t hold back the smile. She didn’t take Paris from me, but it’s easier to hate her than Miranda. I have to love my job in order to do it. When I found out that Andy was about to tell me about Paris when I was hit by that cab… I wanted to destroy her. Completely and utterly destroy. I wanted Miranda to banish her to Tibet and then blacklist her from even working there once she was air dropped. I stewed in the hospital, my apartment, and each day in the empty halls of Runway.  
  
Miranda hired the first leggy thing that HR sent up. I smiled that Andy was so easily replaced. The new girl ran errands I couldn’t all day. Miranda called me by name and asked how I was doing. Well, she asked how long I’d be on crutches, but with Miranda that’s as close as you’re going to get. Being the first day back after Fashion Week there were very few calls and everyone was fighting jet lag. Miranda headed home early to be with her twins. I used my crutch to help spin my chair while I waited on the Book. With no dry cleaning and Roy taking pity on me, I was home early compared to nights when I’d have to take the subway.  
  
So why couldn’t I sleep when I lay down? Why did I wonder what Andy Sachs was doing now?  
  
—Emily

 

 

 

 

x


	2. Bittersweet.

 

 

 

_**Tailslide—Bittersweet**_  
  
 **March 9, 2006**  
  
Jet lag is a bitch. Life lag? Lowest level of hell.  
  
I left Miranda. Yay. I wanted to say it to Nate when I got home, but home didn’t exist anymore. Nate’s things were gone. I finally caved to the pressure of ‘my life’ and walked away in Paris. Nate, Lily, Doug all might have been happy for me. I might even have been happy for me. It wasn’t like I wanted to be a lifer at Runway. Here I am in the big city: no job, no phone, and no boyfriend. Who knows what else I’ve lost? My friends? Lily and Doug no doubt will side with Nate. I almost don’t want to get a new phone. Nigel and Emily? They are Runway property, right?  
  
I guess now that I’ve done the laundry, put out a few resumes, and slept like the dead—well, now it’s time for the how the hell did I get here part. Does growth always feel like a kick in the ass? I don’t have to jump to meet ridiculous demands or try to read minds anymore. I won’t have to hear complaints about how I live for the job.  
  
The problem is… I have always lived for the job. I just never had a job that asked for so much. Sure, I had to write a few papers for classes, articles for the newspapers, and socialize. That was nothing compared to meeting the demands of the entire fashion world through the epicenter of Miranda Priestly. Days later I don’t even know why I left. Nigel stayed knowing that he’d be paid back eventually or be part of something else soon enough. He was ready to make the break, but knew he had to wait. What made me bolt like that?  
  
Emily. Miranda likened what she did to Nigel to what I did to Emily.  
  
Looking into the mirror is bittersweet when you know you’ve done wrong.  
  
—Andy

 

 

 

 

x


	3. Love.

 

 

 

_**Tailslide—Love**_  
  
 **March 15, 2006**  
  
That leggy new thing can bring the proper coffee and be on time. Beyond that I’m not sure that she can do too much. Thankfully we are not preparing for either set of fashion weeks and the next gala is not for a few weeks. I guess we shall see what she is capable of. She’s fashionable enough, but I have to translate Miranda for her—which is a bad sign. The press is being absolutely miserable about the divorce. I didn’t think there was much love lost there really, but going through a tabloid break up has to suck. Maybe she’ll play with Leggy and then fire her. That shouldn’t make me happy, but I think it does. I don’t know if the press is right to call Miranda a dragon. Maybe she’s more like a cat toying with her prey. I wonder if I could teach Leggy to play dead.  
  
When Andrea started, really the only thing she had going for her was being on time and having spark enough to talk back and catch Miranda’s attention. I about died when I had to go down to the lobby after her. I don’t think any of us realized how much she had learned until Nigel had hog tied her and dressed her up. Once she was in the proper clothes it was like we all breathed a sigh of relief. We were able to truly see her for the first time. But even at her worst I wasn’t translating Miranda for her—vocabulary yes, but not the list of demands themselves.  
  
Serena’s been bringing lunch to me in the conference room so I don’t have to hobble down to the cafeteria. It’s great because it makes my half an hour feel longer. I was telling her how awful the new girl is compared to Andrea today and she got the strangest look on her face. When I asked her what she was thinking she just smiled and said, ‘Love hides in familiar faces.’ When I asked her what she meant, she just stared at me.  
  
—Emily

 

 

 

 

x


	4. Hate.

 

 

 

_**Fanfic 100—Hate**_  
  
 **March 22, 2006**  
  
No job.  Yet.  Giving up is not an option. It’s only been two weeks. I refuse to give up.  
  
My mother reminded me of law school. Again.  
  
I’m a writer. Describing the moment, telling the story of those who cannot speak for themselves, capturing history one moment at a time, or cataloging the day to day—I’ve always done this. Written down stories, taken over the campfire with a flashlight lighting up my face, marking milestones like so many pencil lines in a doorway measuring the vertical years.  
  
We all start somewhere and it’s pretty much always at whatever is considered the ‘bottom’ of the profession. Obituaries and high school football updates are no different than singing in school or modeling in your living room—I hate that my parents can’t see that. Really, what do they think? Law is even worse! Intern (lackey), Associate, Partner… Intern, Public Defender… The path to District Attorney is even longer. I may not want to be Miranda Priestly, Empress of Fashion. However that doesn’t mean that I don’t want more than I had growing up. I just don’t need to go to the Supreme Court to feel like I’ve made it in the world.  
  
I wonder what Emily wants? She’s worked for Miranda well over a year. I thought that people did their time and got out? What reasons would there be to stay? What could come from having a longer future at Runway?  
  
She loves fashion: clothes, fabrics, colors, and the feel of furs or silks against her skin. One time before she caught herself, she talked to me for a full ten minutes about the architecture in the Alexander McQueen line.  
  
I hate that my parents don’t understand my desire to write, but I hate even more that I’ll never know what Emily’s desire in the world of fashion is. Or perhaps I’ll know, but only from a distance.  
  
—Andy

 

 

 

 

x


	5. Dark.

 

 

 

**Fanfic 100—Dark**  
  
 **March 23, 2006**  
  
I have three weeks left with the cast. Maybe more, maybe less—it’s not like the doctor guarantees things and it’s not like I’ve been able to take it easy. Leggy has been awful, but it’s not like she’s less competent today than she was the first day. From day 1, the girl could do very little without having the directions spelled out for her in the most primary of ways. A kindergarten teacher should have been brought in to translate for her. God knows that Miranda and I lack that soft touch.  
  
The question is: why didn’t Miranda fire her immediately? Normally she wouldn’t have let the girl last past the first day, so why did she let her go for three weeks? In another three weeks or so I’d at least have the cast off. The girl could follow directions—it was just taking the time to give them to her one cheese cube’s worth of information at a time was time consuming. Now I don’t know what I’m getting from HR tomorrow. Will we have to play spin the wheel of assistants?  
  
At least with Andrea, the learning curve went up. She could spell things, write them down, get from one place to another. Hell, she could manage more than one thing at a time. You could give her a list and leave her to do it. Leggy had to come check for the next step each time.  
  
I miss Andrea at work. Serena made me admit it. Then she laughed at my shock.  
  
I just miss her though. Her heart wasn’t here in fashion. Just, her smile was contagious.  
  
Work would be easier because I’d be happy to see her and she knows what to do by now. However that wouldn’t last forever. Andrea would move on as soon as she was able to. Sigh. It’s always darkest before the light, eh? Maybe out of the dark this time could crawl a good assistant.  
  
—Emily

 

 

 

 

x


	6. Light.

 

 

 

_**Fanfic 100—Light**_  
  
 **March 29, 2006**  
  
‘Biggest disappointment.’ That’s what Miranda said about me. Admittedly it got me the job, but ouch. That’s a pretty harsh thing to say from anyone else besides Miranda. From her it’s practically glowing.  
  
I have a job. There is a light at the end of the Runway tunnel.  
  
I’m not blacklisted and starting tomorrow I can work just as hard for the same small amount of money. If I’m really lucky, my parents and friends can complain again. It almost doesn’t matter. I’m still changed. The light through the kaleidoscope has changed the image seen through it. I’m no convert to fashion, but perhaps I am a convert to myself. I don’t want to be Miranda. I think she could accomplish many of the same things that she does using other means. I definitely don’t want to manipulate others the way she used me against Emily.  
  
Setting up a situation to assure your own success, doesn’t have to include blindsiding people on your own team. True team members would want to be in on the plan, even if it meant that they had to sacrifice themselves to achieve the goal. A subsequent plan could be formed to make up for that sacrifice. It sounds cheesy but like Julie Andrew’s character said in ‘Sound of Music,’ ‘When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window.’ Maybe Nigel didn’t get to work with James Holt because in the long run they needed Jacqueline to do that so Miranda could stay. So tell him that and then put things in motion for him to do something else just as exciting. It’s not like things in fashion aren’t ever evolving.  
  
It would have hurt Emily to know that Miranda chose me for Paris, but she would have accepted it, if it had been told to her in some other way.  
  
I wish I could go back and tell her. Something. Anything really.  
  
What would I say? I miss you? I didn’t mean to hurt you? Can we hang out?  
  
—Andy

 

 

 

 

x


	7. Smile.

 

 

 

_**Fanfic 100—Smile**_  
  
 **March 30, 2006**  
  
Leggy the 2nd has made it a week. I almost gave her one of my cheese cubes. Compared to the last one, I think this one just might make it. She can dress, spell fashion names, and handle more than one instruction at a time. I’d worry about thinking too highly of her too early, but Miranda has been on a tear ever since that article about the twins last week and Leggy 2 didn’t bat an eyelash once. I hope she has a good support system in place. This job isn’t for the weak, even if it is ‘just fashion.’  
  
My arms cannot wait until the cast comes off. Although I realize now that my leg will be weak and the hair will be horrifying under the plaster. When I realized that I left Leggy at the desk for an extra 15 minutes. Luckily there was a providential gap in the world so that I didn’t miss anything and she couldn’t mess anything up.  
  
I was ready to throw my crutches at Nigel for teasing me this afternoon.  
  
Then Andrea called. She called me specifically. In Paris she collected clothes for me that she doesn’t think she’ll need while she chases cats up trees or whatever journalistic nonsense she’ll be doing now. I have time on Sunday. I’ll see her then.  
  
I gave the New Girl a smile before I caught myself, told her she had big shoes to fill.  
  
  
  
Is that what Serena meant about love and familiar faces?  
  
  
  
Shit.  
  
  
  
—Emily

 

 

 

 

x


	8. Distance.

 

 

 

_**Fanfic 100—Distance**_  
  
 **April 2, 2006**  
  
Why do we grasp at shards? Hang on to slivers of what never was?  
  
I have a new job. I’ve escaped the Dragon’s Lair without a scratch or so it would seem. Why can’t I just be happy with what I’ve got? A chance to write, the ability to stay in New York, no boyfriend to harp on me when he’s doing the same thing with his own job, and the possibility to start over with new friends that are going through the same thing—why isn’t it enough?  
  
In pulling myself out of this funk and moving on with my life, I decided to pack up the detritus of my life with Nate. Certain things will stay—the New York Yankees bath mat can go, but the picture of us at the top of Rockefeller Center can stay. I only had a few issues of Runway—mostly I just relied on Nigel and Emily. Besides that records room in the basement was just a cornucopia of information. And Penelope? You know Miranda never goes down there or that little gothic princess wouldn’t be there working her behind the scenes magic. That was when I realized that in Paris I had collected clothes, clothes for Emily. Before I knew I was quitting, before I knew how badly I had hurt her and myself, and before I understood what walking away would mean for my heart with regard to that long suffering easily rattled made of iron—lady that is Emily Charlton. Before I knew any of that I had been subconsciously gathering clothes for her.  
  
Truth be told, I thought about putting those clothes in Nate’s drawers.  
  
Then I heard Lily and Doug’s voices in my head.  
  
And you know, voices in your head? Never a good thing, not even in Harry Potter land. Well, unless you’re like telepathic or psychic or something. But I really don’t think I am. Tried the Ouija Board and the Haunted Tour of Chicago and felt absolutely nothing. So, yeah. I don’t want voices in my head. So I didn’t pretend Emily had moved into Nate’s place. Besides if I did that, I’d have to be all creepy and like buy a toothbrush and underwear and stuff. Even in my little daydream in my head, I couldn’t quite go there.  
  
So I guess there’s hope for me.  
  
Gosh. I’m rambling.  
  
And late. Shit.  
  
I’m taking those clothes in a very undignified duffel bag that she will no doubt freak out about to Emily Charlton’s apartment. I should have left ten minutes ago, but I just couldn’t. I really don’t want to go, because then all this delicious apprehension I have will be gone. She’ll get the clothes, huff at their condition and dismiss me.  
  
And then what?  
  
Ok. I can do this. It won’t be any harder than walking across the distance from Miranda’s car to the Champs Elysees to that fountain, right?  
  
—Andy

 

 

 

 

x


	9. Insanity.

 

 

 

_**Fanfic 100—Insanity**_  
  
 **April 2, 2006**  
  
I used to think that working for Miranda was the height of insanity, but I seem to have once again achieved the impossible and found something even more bonkers. Loving Andrea.  
  
She was so delightfully nervous rushing up the stairs to my apartment, lugging that humongous duffel bag of couture, and blushing the most heavenly incarnadine from the combination. I thought she might drop the bag and run off she seemed so skittery. I huffed and made a show of how disappointed I was in the bag and how impossible it would be to hang the things up with my crutches. Of course she stayed. I loved it. I got her to hold up clothes to me so I could look at them in the mirror, when really I was looking at us.  
  
Is it wrong that I was looking at her looking at me? I couldn’t help it. She was looking at me so intent and her hands were almost on me. In the mirror I could pretend she was holding me or about to caress me, even though I could feel only the heat of her palms and never the hint of more. Well, I always felt the hint of more. She would gush and then fumble back into that never ending bag of clothes. I have no idea how she got that much stuff home in her suitcase from Paris and I have no idea what she was thinking when she grabbed many of these pieces. In fact I felt like she had selected the whole set for me. I felt like we were playing pretty, pretty princess.  
  
I’ve never been anyone’s princess before. Royal bitch perhaps, but not really anyone’s princess.  
  
Her eyes are soooo brown.  
  
Her lips are… my face hurts from smiling. I can’t recall ever feeling that.  
  
On the way to the door I pretended to trip on a shoe after catching it with my crutch and wobbling. I dropped it and as she came to save me, I held on to her, the other crutch clattering to the floor. Her body was so warm. Another wobble and she was leaning against me against the front closet door. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and glee that she couldn’t hide. I whispered, ‘thank you,’ and wrapped my arms around her. Her eyes wavered to my lips and back up and when she made to push away I pulled her close and craned my neck forward. Our lips pressed against each other and there was a dreadful pause where I thought she might continue to push away. Instead she moved her lips side to side against mine and pulled away.  
  
She blushed that beautiful shade again and then busied herself picking up the crutches. “I got those all for you,” she smiled blushing down her neck and along the line of her shirt and bosom. Biting her lip she held out the crutches to my waiting hand. “Before I even knew.” Darting forward she pecked my lips and slipped out the front door.  
  
My crutches fell again, but I couldn’t give a shit as I leaned against the door longing for more.  
  
Oh shit, did I just write that? I can see Serena’s face mocking me right now.  
  
—Emily

 

 

 

 

x


	10. Isolation.

 

 

 

_**Fanfic 100—Isolation**_  
  
 **April 3, 2006**  
  
How can one day feel like the isolation of studying abroad for six months in a country where you don’t speak the language?  
  
I went home with my empty duffel bag, lips tingling, and sparks of joy and fear rioting in my tummy. The subway isn’t the best place to feel better.  
  
Emily was so amazing yesterday. I regretted being late as soon as I saw her. Every minute I spent stalling was a minute that I didn’t get to spend with her. I was doing things for her—hanging up clothes and holding them up to her. But it didn’t feel like she was lording it over me. It felt like we were spending time together. With her crutches and her passion for fashion that would probably be a wonderful afternoon for her. It would be the Emily equivalent of a stroll through Central Park or something. I don’t see her as the long walk on the beach in the moonlight type. Looking at herself in the mirror with new clothes—now I could see that making her happy.  
  
While she was distracted I could steal as many glances at her as I wanted. Her blue eyes were shining with excitement. Holding shirts, skirts, and trousers up to her I could imagine my hands were welcome on every curve of her body even as I was careful to not touch too close, too dangerous.  
  
On the way out she stumbled and nearly fell. I caught her. She held me. We kissed.  
  
Was it an accident? It seemed like an accident, but then the look on her face seemed deliberate. Her hands pulling me close felt real. Her lips pushed through my shock, denial. I barely kissed her back. Was that a mistake, an accident? I admitted that all of those clothes were for her. I gave her a quick kiss to let her know I was interested, but then I left.  
  
I was down the hall before the door clicked closed.  
  
Her kiss could have been an accident. Mine was deliberate. What now?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 _‘Cast off today. E x’_  
  
An ‘x’ is a kiss, right? A KISS?!?! That’s it. I’m going over to celebrate. Cheap wine so she can roll her eyes and some attention so that I can see that gleam in her blue eyes.  
  
  
  
  
  
—Andy

 

 

 

 

x


	11. Fantasy.

 

 

_**Fanfic 100—Fantasy**_  
  
 **April 4, 2006**  
  
I’m not sure when but I have always wanted riches, fashion, parties, and the feeling of importance and desire. At school I wanted friends and popularity. In the family I wanted to be the favorite. Earning honors at school, the accolades made me happy.  
  
Some of the bright and shiny has worn off as I have pursued my dream. You have to start as a grunt for the fashion elite to become the fashion elite when your time comes.  
  
Other girls spent time wanting to be a president or an astronaut or walking down an aisle in a white dress.  
  
I just wanted to fill that hunger in myself to be wanted. Congratulations, pats on the back, air kisses, photographs, wanting to be seen together, wanting to bask in the limelight—or steal it. It just has never been enough. Will it ever be enough? Miranda is getting divorced—again. She’s the center of the universe that she has wrapped around her finger, but there is an emptiness at the edge of her eyes that I’ve been around long enough to notice.  
  
I still want to be the center of the fashion world with all of the attention and luxuries.  
  
Andrea left in a hurry after we kissed. Maybe I should have said something, been clearer, but I didn’t. I just couldn’t put my heart out there like that. She kissed me before she left. No accident, just a quick peck after she admitted getting those clothes for me. The way she ran, I didn’t think I’d see her for a while. Our lives don’t intersect on accident. It would be a while before either of us could manufacture a reason to call.  
  
At my appointment yesterday, they took the cast off. I went to work a little wobbly but mostly good. Miranda even gave me a nod.  
  
I texted Andrea and she came over to ‘celebrate.’ She brought a bottle of Strawberry Hill. Like the duffel bag, I rolled my eyes in apparent disgust and then let her in. Her relief was beautiful as it washed over her face and lit up her brown eyes. It was late, but she stayed until we were both yawning too much to pretend we weren’t anymore. I walked her to the door and this time, well, this time I pulled her to me without artifice and this time she kissed me with just a hint of encouragement. She pressed me against the wall. I pressed against her. It wasn’t until we were staring into each other’s eyes and yawned that we parted.  
  
The forming of mental images, especially wondrous or strange fancies—a fantasy—I have a new one. It’s not shiny or glitzy or glammy. My fantasy is that one day Andrea’s hands will really be on me as they almost were in the mirror the other day, that Andrea and I will be that couple I wanted so desperately to see in the glass as she stood just behind me with her hands on my hips holding the skirt up and her chin over my shoulder.  
  
The best part is this: my fantasy can come true.  
  
And that’s something I have no problem with Serena smiling about.  
  
—Emily

 

 

 

 

x


	12. Rainbow.

_**Fanfic 100—Rainbow**_  
  
 **April 13, 2006**  
  
I invited Emily over for Easter. I’ve had a week to fret about it. Should I have called before? But she didn’t call me. She didn’t sound excited, but it’s Emily. She wasn’t excited to have me bring her those clothes, but then I think she made that kiss happen—and she texted me about her cast. She didn’t have to do that. And she was happy to spend the evening with me even if she rolled her eyes at the Strawberry Hill.  
  
It rained today and when the clouds broke I looked for the elusive rainbow. I think mid-west storms are better for seeing them—something about the wind currents and lay of the land or something. Runway was a storm in my life that threatened to take me under. I suppose that would make Miranda Mother Nature, which is a little funny. But when I was safely away and could look back I finally saw the rainbow. Emily is like that. I don’t think you see all of her at once and like those double rainbows you don’t always get to see the other part of her at all. The part of her that would enjoy trying on clothes with me, or trip herself in order to pull me close, or to text me when her cast came off. Usually you just see the rolled eyes at the duffle bag or the sniff at the cheap wine. Sometimes though, sometimes, you can the softness of her fingers on your cheek and the heat of her body pressed against yours and the wet of her desire on your lips.  
  
When I could smell the air after the rain I let go of my worries. Emily saw me at what would likely be perceived my worst when I was trying to fit in at Runway. She has let me into her life even after I did the unthinkable and walked away from Miranda or Runway or perhaps fashion itself during Paris fashion week. Still, she has that tiny smile in secret moments and don’t forget that she pulled me to her last week.  
  
So… no fretting. We are both busy and I’ve never heard anyone wish they could have really gone faster in a relationship, not a real enduring one anyway. Most of the time people wish they had taken their time, really got to know one another, treasured those small steps one at a time so they could look back on them later.  
  
It’s funny how the rain and that fresh smell after can wash away your troubles. Even the memory of it can do that now as I look at how I started this page and now after sitting and thinking I am ending it—full of hope, not anxiety.  
  
  
  
—Andy

 

 

x


	13. Want.

_**Fanfic 100—Want**_  
  
 **April 16, 2006**  
  
I feel like I fell into the Hallmark Channel. If I can’t stop glowing like I know I am right now, Serena is going to have a field day.  
  
Is it wrong to hope that Miranda comes in on a tear after so much family time?  
  
It would help me focus at least.  
  
Sigh. I don’t really want to focus. No, I want to feel Andrea’s oven heated fingertips between my cold subway walking ones, the feel of my face crinkling in a smile when she insists on a stupid nose-to-nose Eskimo kiss with her heat and my frostbite. I told her she can’t call them that anymore anyway. She pointed her finger at me and turned to hold up a bottle of wine, “Watch it, or it will be nothing but Strawberry Hill for you, missy.”  
  
The food smelled divine and her apartment was the picture of poor-cozy. I felt instantly at home. I’ve never felt that before, well, I think I felt that when Andrea was over at my place last time. I just mean, well, I don’t know. We just click. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it while she was at Runway. Thank God, Serena didn’t hint at it until after Andrea left. I probably would have punched her in the nose.  
  
I want holidays like that. I want to know that we will have each other and that there will always be playfulness and cold noses that need to be warmed up. Most of all I want to know that I’m not crazy, or that she’s just as crazy as I am.  
  
We dyed Easter eggs. She wrapped me up like a mummy, made me wear gloves, and then we dyed them with some awful wire hook and tea cups and something that smelled gross.  
  
I took home a few since she had a little carton of six to put them in. I think I’ll bring one to Serena for our lunch tomorrow. They are so pretty. Really they are pretty okay with obvious mistakes, but Andrea told me that sometimes imperfection is perfect. Since she was kissing me to time how long the eggs were in their bath, I couldn’t argue with her.  
  
—Emily

 

 

x


	14. Snow.

_**Fanfic 100—Snow**_  
  
 **April 18, 2006**  
  
It’s only Tuesday. You could say that I just saw Emily, but I won’t see her for… Well, I don’t know when I’ll see her. Crazy busy doesn’t even begin to describe our schedules. Emily is having to wait for the Book again because ‘Leggy 3’ hasn’t been deemed safe or whatever.  
  
I feel bad that she has to wait for the book, but… I wouldn’t go back to work at Runway ever.  
  
What a thought.  
  
She said Serena loved the Easter eggs and was a little jealous. I feel giddy that she talks about me with her friend. I don’t know what I expected. I don’t think I dared to expect anything.  
  
I’m gonna have to call my little brother. Otherwise not telling anyone will get to me. That’s the downside to starting over I guess—having no one to tell the good shit to, yet, anyway. I think I’m wearing down the secretary. I finally figured out her coffee order. Then again that isn’t exactly a friendship indicator really. I guess that’s mostly just making nice with the folks who can help me out in little ways at work. Yep, little brother, you are getting one massive phone call tonight—and I need to work on this getting some new friends thing.  
  
With drugs and stuff they always told us it only takes trying it one time to get addicted. I saw Emily every day for nearly a year and thought nothing of it. Then I quit cold turkey and seeing her three times in the last 6 weeks is just not enough. I feel the pain of one day like a full on drought.  
  
I wish we were in Colorado instead of New York.  
  
With a little snow, she could have been stuck here after Easter. We won’t see snow again here until next winter.  In Colorado it's still snowing somewhere, right?  When I walked her out on Sunday, it was so cold that our breath made little clouds in front of us. She laughed until she had tears glistening in her eyes when I said that if there were photos of us, we could write lines to each other in Sharpie. I wanted to kiss her so bad that I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jacket. We had said goodbye upstairs in my doorway for half an hour. It didn’t matter. My hands itched to touch her all over again.  
  
She laughed and tucked a strand of hair behind my air. Then she leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth just far enough over that it could be called my cheek. Pulling away quickly she laughed at my wide eyes. As I pulled my hands out of my jacket she backed up grinning and then turned and ran down the street. “Don’t you dare, Andy Sachs!” She tossed back over her shoulder. Then we stood on the street breathing heavily and looking at one another. As if by magic she stepped to the edge of the curb and lifted her hand and a taxi appeared. Otherwise I don’t know how the moment would have ended.  
  
I can’t wait until the first snow this year. I’m going to make Emily walk hand in hand with me in Central Park; I’m going to take photos of us with snowflakes caught on our hair; and I’m going to write our words in Sharpie on the clouds of our breath.  
  
—Andy

 

 

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	15. Need.

_**Fanfic 100—Need**_  
  
 **April 20, 2006**  
  
Smiling when the phone rings, saying goodnight with a smile, and checking my phone throughout the day—since when did those things become reflexes for me? Since when did I think about holidays and snuggling? Easter eggs for lunch—what the hell am I doing?  
  
Miranda let love in—look what happened to her.  
  
She tries so hard to hide her heart, but I’ve been here long enough to see it. Stephen and Robert did not even hold a candle to the twins’ father. I shouldn’t know that, but I’ve followed her eyes when she looks at them and the fire, from the first, was never as bright.  
  
What lesson should I learn from her? To never let love in because it becomes a wound that will never heal? I don’t want to need anyone or anything. I don’t want to feel weak. I don’t want to look forever for someone to replace her in my heart only to never be able to grasp onto shadows.  
  
  
  
Why am I so melancholy tonight?  
  
Andy just called to tell me about her day and ask about mine. I re-read the beginning of this.  
  
Yet I think of Andy’s voice in my ear, her giggle, and how my heart beats faster.  
  
Maybe what I should learn is to find that love and to hold onto it with both hands.  
  
—Emily  
  


 

 

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	16. Scars.

_**Fanfic 100—Scars**_  
  
 **April 27, 2006**  
  
Yesterday Emily seemed really distracted. She was talking about the news coverage of the divorce. The twins were mentioned again and apparently Miranda eviscerated the editor of the newspaper in question. I’m just glad that it wasn’t the Mirror. I don’t want to fall under Miranda’s radar for any reason. She let me go or something and I’m sure I’ll never understand, just as I’m sure I’ll never be able to adequately thank her. That doesn’t mean I want to be anywhere near anyone who does a story about her, fashion, or her children. What the fashion maven giveth—I’m sure she can taketh away.  
  
We were walking and Emily kept going on about how Miranda is dealing with all of it.  
  
I couldn’t help but think she was putting herself in Miranda’s shoes. I felt like she was trying to put distance between us.  
  
I stopped walking and when our fingers tugged she turned to look at me. Her mouth was the shape of surprise and her eyes shone with question while her brow furrowed at my defiance.  
  
I think I told her something like this:  
  
‘We all have scars, Emily. Miranda never healed from that broken heart and she made herself into someone that no one else can ever compete with. She made herself an island and she fights to stay that way no matter who tries to connect with her or tear her down. You have scars from people never seeing you for you. Wounds that haven’t healed because you haven’t known they were there. I see you, Emily, beautiful, funny, strong Emily. You aren’t her and you don’t have to become her.’  
  
‘What about you?’ I was glad that she stepped closer when she asked. It gave me hope. Her fingers tightening on mine were the answer to my un-uttered question.  
  
‘I left in Paris because Miranda pointed out that I had done the same horrible thing to you as she had done to Nigel. I left because I don’t want to be her and it seemed like I was becoming her.’  
  
  
‘You left because of me?’  
  
‘Yes.’  
  
‘I don’t know what to say.’  
  
I walked her home, but it was a quiet two blocks. The only comfort I could take was that her hand didn’t pull away from mine the entire time. Kissing her cheek wasn’t nearly as good as kissing her lips though.  
  
Sigh. Shit.  
  
—Andy

 

 

x


	17. Time.

_**Fanfic 100—Time**_  
  
 **April 29, 2006**  
  
Block love out or hold onto the live wire that could kill you—those are some choices.  
  
The first requires denial, iron clad control, acceptance of unfulfilled desires and dreams dismissed as delusion. That would be tantamount to cutting off one’s arm or wearing a blindfold to deprive vision. Denying love, which would be akin to taking color from a fashionista, would be like the slow ingestion of poison.  
  
Holding on would be like placing one’s hand into the fire and leaving it there—for if you could just keep the faith, your life would be that much better. So absolutely contrary to what we have been taught over the years. If poking your eye with your finger hurts, then stop it. If drinking milk makes you ill, then you drink something else.  
  
Andy left Runway because she betrayed me to go to Paris as the First Assistant.  
  
  
  
What does that mean? If she stayed at Runway, would she be First? Would I hate her? Would I even know? It was certainly time that Miranda would move me on. Would Andy be the Andy that I know if she had stayed?  
  
I don’t know.  
  
I don’t know.  
  
—Emily

 

 

x


	18. Clockwork.

_**Fanfic 100—Clockwork**_  
  
 **May 2, 2006**  
  
Get up. Go to work. Make the coffee. Check the messages. Check the storyboard. Start assignment. Either go out and pound the pavement or turn on the computer and click the keys.  
  
Names of colleagues. Smiles shared. The occasional fact or question. Not friends, but not strangers anymore either.  
  
Clock out. Go home. Go out. Whatever.  
  
The Mirror has been so much easier to adapt to—everything runs like clockwork now.  
  
Tick tick tick—but it’s just that--time ticking by. Emily hasn’t talked to me in five days or so, which could be nothing or everything. Taken together with the cheek kiss, I have to admit to a bit of worry. Will she feel the betrayal in retrospect now that we’ve talked about it and how I felt about it? I couldn’t stomach what the mirror had shown me I had done. That has to count for something, right?  
  
—Andy

 

 

x


	19. Sky.

_**Fanfic 100—Sky**_  
  
**May 5, 2006**  
  
Patricia is a beast—an untamed, breathing, slurping, snuffling beast. I’d suggest having a dog walker hired, but then today—because of her—I had a revelation. Besides, it is always so much fun when I get to make one of the other girls have to walk her. It’s so infrequent that it’s me that I really can’t care too much. Except, you know, for when she and another dog are sniffing each other’s ‘you-know-what’s’ right there at the end the leash while the other dog’s owner tries to chat me up.  
  
Invariably, I ended up at the Bethesda Fountain with my back to the Angel of the Waters statue. Patricia always sits quietly when we go. I guess she figures its her payment to me since she knows it’s not like this is my favorite part of working for Miranda. In return I always include her in my wishes for the future as I throw the coins over my shoulder. Serena would so laugh at that, so it’s best left between Patricia and me.  
  
Looking up at the sky today I couldn’t help but wish I was waiting for Andrea. Her chocolate brown eyes are so earnest and soul-searching. That’s why she told me about Paris, right? Because she’s honest to a fault and she felt horrible. She realized what Miranda had manipulated her into doing and she put an end to it—even on the other side of the ocean in the middle of fashion week. Unbelievable. She really is something, someone I’ve never encountered before.  
  
I looked back over the last several pages of my journal. I tried to hate her for Paris, but looking back through it I can see that even then I knew it was Miranda. In order to do my job, I need to not hate her. Yet, that’s what it comes back to. Miranda manipulates the situations she is in for survival, sport, or just because she can. Perhaps Andy was a better assistant than me. However that isn’t the issue, is it? The issue is how she handled the situation. Keep a business decision just that a business decision and as above board as possible. She could have saved herself in the same way that she did without giving Nigel the sneak attack. Sure timing was crucial, but how long does it really take to pull someone near the coat room and say, ‘I have something else in mind for you, if you can just get through the day.’  
  
I can’t fault Andrea for making things right as soon as she was able. On her own she wouldn’t have done what she did.  
  
Now what do I do with this sick feeling I’ve had ever since walking Patricia back and leaving for the day? Sigh. Heed my own advice—work for Miranda a year and you can work anywhere. Close my eyes and pick a place, eh?  
  
—Emily

 

 

x


	20. Fading.

_**Fanfic 100—Fading**_  
  
 **May 18, 2006**  
  
After three weeks and some serious PMS, I have to admit my hopes for Emily and I were fading.  
  
And then…  
  
When the girl goes all in, she goes all in. Tomorrow she starts at Rolling Stone of all places. It seems that they have quite a bit to do with fashion between their photo shoots and coverage of celebrity events. Her contacts will come in handy for costuming rock ‘n’ roll’s elite. Besides, apparently she has a thing for punk and hopes to become acquainted with Patti Smith. The fashion of punk seems a little out there when I think of Emily, but I have to admit that it would be rocking to see her holding a beer bottle as a microphone and smashing poetry into rock like that.  
  
Who would have thought? A closet punk.  
  
Did I tell you she likes me? I could hear her smile more and more as we were talking. I think she was embarrassed to admit her big old crush on Patti Smith. I think she was surprised that I was just as friendly as I was before. I don’t know what I expected when I told her about why I quit, but I totally understood that she had to look at it all over again. It wasn’t like we were friends when I worked there, and it’s not like we’ve had much time to decide what we are doing now.  
  
I know one thing though—tomorrow night I’m going over to celebrate with my now traditional bottle of Strawberry Hill. One more thing—I know she’ll love it.  
  
—Andy

 

 

x


	21. Path.

_**Fanfic 100—Path**_  
  
 **May 19, 2006**  
  
 _“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.”_  
  
I should not have let Andy bring that bottle of trash with her. She just might be the death of me and I don’t mean the longing that I was left with. I mean the headache that I went into work with on my first day.  
  
When she left, after midnight, she said something cheesy about the ‘first day of the rest of my life.’ I wondered what the hell I was thinking until she gave that huge grin of hers and pulled me in for another kiss. I felt too good to properly chastise her. This morning however I made sure to send her an appropriate text.  
  
My first day was empty but busy. I think I saw Shakira go into one of the offices. It was busy around me and I was being pumped full of information, but I wasn’t really given any tasks quite yet. I guess like anything you sort of jump into the deep end, flounder around a bit, and then make it to the other side or whatever.  
  
All day I felt off kilter. I have been so immersed in the world of Runway and Miranda Priestly that it was as if I was on another plane of existence or something. However heading home at the end of the day knowing I would call Andy and tell her everything felt right. I felt like there was a path ahead of me, a new path, which put me in mind of Robert Frost.  
  
It feels right starting this new thing with Andy as well as this new job path. I like that we are both finding our way without the things that originally brought us together and/or kept us apart.  
  
—Emily

 

 

x


	22. Mirror.

_**Fanfic 100—Mirror**_  
  
 **May 23, 2006**  
  
Going to sleep in a new bed is unsettling. When you travel, for example, you wake in the middle of the night and you’re not quite sure where the bathroom door is. You wake up and realize that the previous day you were in your hometown, say Cincinnati, and then you woke up in another town, say New York. At first you just know you’re in a strange room, then you recollect that you are somewhere else entirely.  
  
When I was first in New York, I had that feeling all the time. Then when I came back from Paris I felt it again. Sometimes it’s just different, like your life had been on one path and you’ve made some kind of big change like going off to college or throwing your phone in a fountain and in some way a part of you still feels the pull of what you had been heading towards up to that life moment.  
  
Yesterday I woke up in Emily’s bed.  
  
All day I walked around remembering and trembling. The best kind of exhaustion ever, additionally I didn’t quite feel myself. I wasn’t sure if I was looking at the mirror from my usual side or not. Perhaps this has all been as in a dream and I am peering through the looking glass?  
  
Tee hee. Unlike Alice, I woke up with an Emily and not a kitten.  
  
—Andy

 

 

x


	23. Imaginary.

_**Fanfic 100—Imaginary**_  
  
 **May 29, 2006**  
  
Surrounded by fashion and glamour as well as people interested in both. Working hard with others who are working equally hard by collaborating as a team around a project and making less mistakes because more informed eyes are looking after details. It’s a dream come true.  
  
Wrapped in fashion chosen for me by a girl with endlessly deep eyes. Using my leg again as twist and turn through the nights. I fantasize in quiet moments, hoping I won’t be caught.  
  
How can it be real? I wake up each day of this new life wondering when the padded walls will become visible and my reality medicated away as actually imaginary.  
  
Yet. When I pinch there’s pain.  
  
Besides, can two people share such an elaborate delusion? I’m quite sure that anyone I made up wouldn’t be quite as nice as Andy, nor would she bring such cheap wine.  
  
—Emily

 

 

x


	24. Fear.

_**Fanfic 100—Fear**_  
  
 **July 1, 2006**  
  
The words are there, like so many tears lined up in ducts around the world waiting for the moment of release. I know what I feel and I even know what she feels. We say other things, make other signs of affection, both verbal and non. I don’t mind. It’s just one of those things that should be written down, remembered. That elusive moment of feeling right before saying something that can never quite be regained again once you’ve gone on down the road of your life together.  
  
Sometimes the moment catches us by surprise only to be headed off at the pass with a gentle bite like a sheep dog to one from its errant flock. With the kiss or the awkward moment, there is the same emotion echoed loudly between us; and I have perfected the humorously delightful awkward wave and ‘hi.’ She finds that both atrocious and endearing enough to shake off her fears and soundly kiss me or smack me on the ass.  
  
I can feel it on the tip of her tongue, against the pulse within her skin. I want it.  
  
And then I catch her looking at me in the morning before her coffee, hair askew, camisole strap hanging down, breast ready to expose its dusky areola, her lips parted slightly, and that tiny gasp and flash in her eyes signaling the embarrassment of being caught out watching me… And then I smile at her, reach with a beckoning finger and adjust my body pulling the sheet away from my skin as I move us past that slip of fear and into another surge of togetherness.  
  
As Hawthorne recommended—be still, and happiness will alight.  
  
—Andy

 

 

x


	25. Courage.

_**Fanfic 100—Courage**_  
  
 **July 9, 2006**  
  
I love you.  
  
I said it. I didn't need to gather my courage at all.  It slipped out when we were half clothed, half awake, and perhaps more than halfway ready for it.  
  
Her chocolate brown eyes when wide with surprise and she held her hand over her heart flexing it into a fist as she stepped back letting her glass of water thud against the counter. I think my heart stopped as I realized what she was reacting to and then recognized her reaction.  
  
By then her gasp of shock had turned up at the corners of her mouth and her hand had opened up to flutter against her heated skin and the brown of her eyes revealed her true nature—a bullshitter to the core.  
  
I stamped my foot and with a single pivot was out the room.  
  
She ran behind me scooping me up behind the knees causing me to hit her and hold her in equal measure like some kind of trashy harlequin romance cover. Then again that would make her my very own bodice ripper, so maybe there’s merit in that statement. Laughing and kissing me as I writhed against her she hit against the wall awkwardly, her hand behind my knees allowing me to slip down her body while her arm around my shoulders pinned me against her.  
  
When the steam finally cleared from my mind I heard her saying it back to me over and over as she kissed my hair, my neck, and nuzzled against me. Emily, I love you, I love you, I’ve been waiting for you forever, Emily, I love you…  
  
I pulled back and we looked at each other with this breathless wonder, sharing this moment that will be etched in our minds forever.  
  
Then with a twinkle in her eye that I have finally, finally come to recognize—I beat her to it.  
  
I hate you.  
  
I said with a smile.  
  
She nodded and offered me left over cold pizza and the last glass of that horrible Strawberry Hill.  
  
It was 5:27 am on a Saturday.  
  
When I refused her offer; she scooped me up, and only the suddenness of it, allowed her to succeed. Then she carried me to our bed to make her atrocious humor up to me.  
  
  
—Emily

 

 

That's all :)  Thanks for reading this one!


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